


Tropique

by ConstanceComment



Series: Coeur de Loup [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Aggressively 80s Disco Music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, Jean Valjean is bad at phone sex, M/M, Multi, OT3, Phone Calls & Telephones, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstanceComment/pseuds/ConstanceComment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One would be surprised to find out exactly how much of their job involves a truly exorbitant amount of running around and trying to evade detection by the police. Javert switching teams to join the other side of the chase didn’t really change that, it just made it a lot easier for them to get away.</p><p>Valjean doesn’t give a shit how much Fantine hates his ratty old doc martens; they get him from case to case, from chase to chase. On a related note, it is an acknowledged fact that Jean Valjean is terrible at phone sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tropique

**Author's Note:**

> Direct your attention to the musical interlude [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHadmo8e4gk).

Fantine’s smile is a glorious thing. Even despite her missing teeth, Valjean feels like he could stare at it forever. She always looks like she understands something no one else does, lips curling impish on a round face. Her smile translates wonderfully through phone lines, too, and though he does not like to answer his phone, Valjean always does so when it’s Fantine that’s calling. His phone only rings once or twice before he picks up, and he does so just to hear the smug, self-satisfied smile Fantine wears every time, pleased with the knowledge that she is the one Valjean never fails to answer for.

The news, of course, is always bad. Fantine does not call when there is good news. She prefers to tell them in person, or else not tell them at all, an eternity of hunting making her superstitious as the rest of them. Valjean knows that she fears to scare off good fortune by naming it, which is fine, he supposes. It does make their phone calls very predictable, however

Unless, of course, she’s decided to have fun with him.

“What are you wearing?” Fantine asks, playful.

“Black socks?” Valjean hazards. “Yellow jacket?”

On the other end of the line, he can hear the rustling of old paper, the telltale sounds of Fantine at work. Valjean imagines he can see the manuscripts spread out before her, her latest translation projects arrayed on the kitchen table, probably the old, Polish herbal medicine compendium she’d fished out of an estate sale a few weeks back.

Valjean for his part, is currently pressed down against a rooftop, watching a potential loup-garou through a grocery store window, and coincidentally through the barrel of a sniper rifle. Javert thinks that the man is hiding something, and people _have_ been going missing in Blagnac over the last few months, but Valjean still thinks they’ve got the wrong guy. For one, the man in question is a vegetarian. Javert of course insists that this is all something to do with guilt and penance for the man, but Valjean doesn’t see it. Regardless, Valjean keeps the rifle dutifully pointed on the suspect while Javert stalks him through the grocery store. It wouldn’t do for Javert to get eaten due to carelessness, not when there was a rifle sitting conveniently in the Gamma’s false trunk.

“You are terrible at phone sex,” Fantine informs him.

“I’m on a stakeout!” Valjean protests.

“That’s a perfectly reasonable time for phone sex,” Fantine insists.

“You say that about every situation.”

“It’s true in every situation.”

Valjean pauses, looking down the barrel at Javert, who is scowling neutrally in the suspect’s general direction unless he’s taken particular offence to the store’s brand of raisins. “Doc martens,” Valjean says, and Fantine groans.

“I hate those shoes,” she says, unhappy.

“I know you hate those shoes,” Valjean agrees.

“Remind me why I haven’t burned them?” Fantine asks, flipping papers.

“Because you love me,” Valjean replies, and he can’t help grinning.

On the other end of Valjean’s scope, the supposed loup-garou is comparing brands of frozen peas.

“I love your ass, there is a difference,” Fantine says primly. Valjean does not point out that his shoes have nothing to do with his ass. The silence is pointed enough to do it for him.

“Shut up,” Fantine grumbles.

Valjean does not point out that he did not say anything, and Fantine groans at him before asking; “how’s Javert?”

“Call him and find out yourself,” Valjean tells her. “I’m certain he’d love the distraction.”

“That bad?” Fantine enquires, sympathy apparent in her tone.

“Boring, mostly,” Valjean admits. “Javert’s annoyed that the closest we’ve gotten is a vegetarian with too many cats.”

And it really is a truly exorbitant amount of cats. That particular round of breaking and entering had been fun; not only was Javert breaking into hives back in the Gamma at the knowledge that Valjean had been violating the law, Valjean himself was breaking into hives due to the sheer amount of dander the vegetarian’s house was covered in.

“Javert is never happy,” Fantine replies flippantly. “I think he was born scowling.”

“He smiles when he’s hunting,” Valjean points out, trying to keep control of his own smile.

“Is that what that is?” Fantine exclaims, facetious and almost-incredulous. “I thought that was some kind of biological weapon deployed to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies.”

“That too,” Valjean agrees, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

Below, the vegetarian has moved on from peas to carrots and mixed vegetables; two rows over, Javert does, in fact, look as though he was born scowling. The expression stamped on his face is an odd mix of boredom, suspicion and professional interest; how he manages to be one with the few shadows in the grocery store despite all of that and his over-six-foot frame, Valjean will never understand.

“Do you have a real reason to call?” Valjean asks Fantine, shifting his shoulder slightly to adjust his tenuous grip on the phone.

“I can’t just call to say hello?” Fantine asks; Valjean can practically hear her batting her eyelashes at him through the phone. 

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Fantine informs him.

Valjean waits, focusing his attention back on Javert, who for his part is pretending to be very interested in canned corn. He’s not very convincing. Though this is mostly because there is only so much interest one can have in canned corn.

After a moment, Fantine sighs and admits, reluctantly: “I got a lead from Vidocq.”

Valjean startles at this, slightly surprised. “Vidocq, really? I thought he wasn’t involved with the police anymore.”

“Yeah, he runs a detective business now,” Fantine confirms. “Some of his guys have heard things about Melun. There have been sightings of a lady in white that walks along the streets at night.”

Valjean shifts the phone against his shoulder as he readjusts the scope, following Javert and the potential loup-garou through the store as they leave the freezers to head for the canned goods section of the store.

“Could just be someone with an odd sense of fashion who likes to take constitutionals,” Valjean points out.

“You don’t believe that.”

“No,” Valjean agrees, “no I don’t, but someone has to say it for form’s sake. How did Vidocq even find out? Melun’s outside of his usual range of business, isn’t it?”

“No, you’re right. Usually him and his people stay as close to Paris as they can get, but Melun is getting really bloody,” Fantine informs him. “Two deaths in the last week alone, a total of nine missing persons over the last two months. It’s enough that the Vidocq _and_ the Prefecture have heard about it, which means that the National Police will know soon enough. Any more of this and they might send some poor bastard with the wrong kind of training to look for a serial killer or something.”

Valjean sighs, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and upset the rifle. “I’ll tell Javert,” he nonetheless assures Fantine, “we’ll head to Melun once we finish up here.”

“How’s that going by the way?” Fantine asks, curiosity coloring her voice as her smile mellows.

“Javert bet me forty euros the vegetarian is a loup-garou, and the motel smells like a sewer,” Valjean replies promptly, irritation coloring his tone.

“Take him to the cleaners,” Fantine insists, grinning again. “There’s no way.”

“I fully intend to,” Valjean responds, smiling back. “That’s herbal money; I can get plenty of angelica with that.”

Below, the brunette cashier has approached Javert, leaning forward into his space while the former inspector tries to back out of her reach, frowning in displeasure at her attentions.

“Are we running low?” Fantine asks, and Valjean can just imagine her face screwing up in concentration as she frowns, mentally reviewing their stock of ingredients.

“Last time I checked, yes,” Valjean replies. Down in the grocery store, the vegetarian has selected his purchases and is in the process of haggling with the cashier. “The new crop in the windowbox hadn’t grown in last I checked.”

“What about the roof?” Fantine tries, voice pulling down into a frown, mouth curling into a moue Valjean can practically see. “Don’t you have some planted up there? How long ‘til that grows in?”

Javert, for his part, is now backing away from the brunette. When the young lady turns about to follow him, Valjean catches her somewhat besotted expression. He’s not really sure how he feels about that, all told. An odd emotion is forming in his chest and it’s either jealousy or heartburn, neither being very good for him.

“A few weeks?” Valjean hazards a guess, frowning down the scope. “I just planted up there, it’s going to be a while before everything blooms.”

“I’ll pick some up for you when I get the chance, then,” Fantine says easily.

“You don’t have to do that,” Valjean protests.

“No, but it’s not a problem,” Fantine replies. “I was going to have to go out for ginger anyway, and there’s another estate sale going on just outside the city. I was going to go out to see if they had some manuscripts, I might as well see if there’s a good farmers’ market in the area.”

“Ah, well, thank you then,” Valjean tells her. “Want us to get you anything on our way back, then?”

In the grocery store, Javert appears to be fully embroiled in an argument with the brunette. Her gestures are pointed; Valjean’s mostly sure that he sees her poke Javert in the chest, if only because Javert gives her a glare that once stopped hardened criminals in their tracks.

“Some paper fixatives might be nice?” Fantine replies absently, her voice softer as she moves away from the phone. 

Silence hangs for a moment, broken by the sounds of pages turning on the other end of the line, ostensibly Fantine working still through one of her translation projects. In the grocery store, the brunette, apparently unconcerned by Javert’s expression, has begun to gesture vehemently in the direction of the vegetarian. To his credit, the vegetarian has not noticed anything, and has now moved on to the aisle with the cat food.

“What are you wearing?” Valjean asks after a moment.

Fantine snorts, surprised. The sound is completely undignified and Valjean can’t help but grin. “Brown shorts,” she says, “and red underwear.”

Apparently satisfied with their conversation, the brunette pokes Javert in the chest once more before walking back to her station at the checkout aisle, leaving Javert looking disgruntled next to the corn.

Valjean pauses. “The lacy ones or—“

“The ones that I got last Christmas?” Fantine confirms, her smirk back.

Valjean blinks. Down in the store, a dark-haired man has entered the store, his dirty jacket and hunched-in spine screaming ‘suspicious, yes I am suspicious hello look at me!’ to Valjean’s overdeveloped paranoia.

“I thought Javert kept stealing those,” Valjean remarks once he finds his voice, coughing a bit into the phone.

“You mean I keep hiding them in his luggage and he keeps pretending not to notice,” Fantine corrects him.

“No,” Valjean says slowly, still watching the man as he fails to pick up a basket at the door, “I’m pretty sure I’ve caught him wearing them more than once.”

“I’ve stolen the rest of his underwear more than once.”

Valjean stops short. “The relationship the two of you share scares me deeply, and I am very glad you don’t involve me in any way.”

“You just don’t have a stomach for the competition.” Fantine accuses him.

In the store, the brunette’s eyes have gone wide from what Valjean can see through his scope, and she fumbles for the phone next to register. Javert, for his part, is still in the corn aisle, watching the vegetarian.

“Ah, hell,” Valjean mutters faintly, and pulls the trigger just as the man in the jacket rips his way free of it, bellowing loud enough to be heard from the rooftop across the street. The rifle kicks hard against Valjean’s shoulder, making him grunt slightly into the phone. Shot through the leg, the loup-garou falls to the ground with a crash of momentum, knocking over most of the inventory in the corn aisle, cans falling in a crash of tin.

“What was that?” Fantine demands, smile gone. “Was that your rifle? Valjean are you shooting things already—“

“Hey, I have to go,” Valjean says quickly, already disassembling and packing up the rifle, cradling the phone between his head and his shoulder. “Javert’s busy dismembering the loup-garou- I’ll see you in Paris?” He asks hopefully.

In the grocery store, Javert has produced a machete from somewhere in his coat, and is busy trying to remove the loup-garou’s head from its shoulders without falling on the cans of corn. The loup-garou, having finished its transformation, swipes at him. Behind the counter, the brunette has started to scream; Valjean can hear her from the roof.

“You’ll see me in Paris,” Fantine confirms, sounding much calmer.

Valjean, finished packing the rifle, slings its duffle bag over his shoulder, transferring his phone to his hand as he scrambles down the fire escape.

“Have fun evading arrest!” Fantine says as Valjean barrels towards the Gamma, the brunette’s screams nearly drowning her out.

Valjean clicks the phone shut as Javert comes bolting out of the store, his greatcoat covered in blood, machete still in his hand, shooting him a look that, after years of partnership, can be easily translated as ‘get in the car, get in the car, get in the car _now_ , damn it Valjean—‘

Obligingly, Valjean gets in the car, tossing the rifle’s bag into the backseat as the engine turns over.

“What was with the vegetarian?” Valjean asks once they’re a fair way out from Blagnac, about a third of the way to Melun.

“He has some kind of disorder,” Javert says dismissively. “Apparently he startles easy; that woman behind the counter has a soft spot for him, apparently. I think the loup-garou was her ex-boyfriend?”

“You think?” Valjean repeats, amused and surprised. “You mean to say that you don’t have a complete background of the perpetrator and his ties to every other person in this town—“

Javert elbows him in the ribs, scowling. Valjean for his part just laughs, swerving onto a dirt road to double back on his own path of travel.

The cassette player blares Muriel Dacq, and the Gamma jumps as it hits a pothole, the hunt continuing as it always does.

“So about Fantine’s underwear—“

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really could just write Fantine and Valjean on the phone for another 5000 words, but the plot (inasmuch as this series has a plot) needed to get somewhere.
> 
> Also I’m probably never going to write Javert in Fantine’s underwear. Seriously. Just assume that that’s what’s going on whenever it’s not explicitly stated otherwise from this point out. Can you tell that I’m having fun in this verse because I’m having fun in this verse. I’m having so much fun.


End file.
